To friendship To generosity To ten Galleons a hair
by Bagge
Summary: All Harry wanted was a memory, but in the process he made friends of two very different persons. Friendfic.
1. I

**To friendship! To generosity! To ten Galleons a hair!**

_All Harry wanted was a memory, but in the process he made friends of two very different persons. Friendfic. Characters belong to Rowling._

Horace hesitantly raised his head from the table and tried to focus. Hagrid's hut was blurry and there was something missing, even if he couldn't put his finger on it. Come to think of it he couldn't put his finger on anything, mostly due to his hand being buried under the gigantic arm of his gigantic companion, who was snoring soundly. Absentmindedly reflecting over this Horace tried to get some overview of the situation. It was probably still night, he concluded from the lack of light, but it still felt like he had slept for awhile. He felt rather dizzy. Suddenly he realized what was missing.

"Needa 'nother drink," he mumbled and Hagrid woke up with a snort.

"Yeah?" he asked hopefully, trying to find his way out from his beard. Horace hand was freed and he begun to inquiringly shake the bottles of the table. They were empty.

"Nope, 's nothing," he said. Hagrid looked like he was going to cry.

"Nothing't all?" he sobbed. Horace sadly shook his head, but then he felt something in his pocket. A bottle! He produced it, and to his delight it was full.

"Look!" He cried. "Here's something t'drink." Eagerly he opened the bottle and moved it to his mouth, but he interrupted himself with a sour look on his face.

"Nah... doesn't smell good. 's spoiled."

"Giv' to me," Hagrid demanded and took the bottle from the other man. He sniffed it and a puzzled look came over him.

"Hey, 's smells spidery. Like Aragog." And he started to cry. "Poor Aragog." Horace patted him on his hand, not reaching up to the shoulder.

"There, there. He died'n peace, af'er all." A thought struck him. "Yeah, I r'mber. It's poison'n the bottle. I took some't the funeral. Maybe better shouldn't drink it." Hagrid stared at him with his eyes filled by tears.

"Yea did, did yea?" He started to cry again. "That's the most beautiful thing anyone ever did for ol' Aragog."

Carefully Horace put the bottle back to his pocket and went back to pat Hagrid on his hand, letting the giant cry. Hagrid did so a little while more, but then he produced a big, spotty hanky and blow his nose soundly. He sighed.

"That's life, isn't? You live, you die, and then all that is left of you is inna bottle." Suddenly his face lit up.

"Ah! Yeh wait!" And watched by the still quite dizzy Horace he unsteadily stood up and tried to open a closet, managing on his third attempt. Triumphantly he produced a small keg.

"Goblin beer," he said. "Best kind 'ere is." Horace cleared way for the keg on the table by sweeping down the bottles on the floor. He found two moderately clean mugs and put them under the keg. He and Hagrid took a deep gulp each.

"Good stuff," he mumbled happily, but then a thought struck him. "Where's Potter anyway?"

"Ah! He is here," Hagrid said from his mug, which was already refilled once, and indicated the chair where Harry had been sitting. Horace eyed it thoughtfully, emptying his mug and giving it to Hagrid for refilling.

"Nah..." he said hesitantly. "He isn't there." Hagrid smiled and tapped his nose.

"That's the trick, yeh know. He's invisible. Meanin' that we can't see him." Horace took another sip and thought it over. He couldn't see anything wrong with that explanation.

"Clever that," he said and then added. "I gotta pee."

"So do I," Hagrid bellowed and tried to stand up. He made it in the third attempt.

Unsteadily they helped each other to get out through the door to the moonlit night. There was a small confusion when they both tried to go separate ways around the hut, helping the other to go their own way, but it was easily resolved as Hagrid simply lifted Horace and carried him. They passed Argog's grave and nodded to him, then they stood at the edge of the forbidden forest, conducting the business they were there for.

"Yeh know..." Hagrid muttered. "We never finished that song."

"We didn't?"

"Nah... can't remember we did anyway."

"Well... maybe Harry finished it then."

"Yeah. Good boy, Harry."

"One of the best. A natural, I tell you."

"So... wanna finish it now?"

"Sure!"

And they did, Hagrid's roaring bass clashing magnificently with Horace's high pitched tenor. They missed the words, they stopped to discuss which order the verses were in and they changed the melody a few times. But for them it was the best song in the world right then.

_Odo the hero said to his dad  
For adventure I'll go bold and true  
He left the place that he'd known as a lad  
Under a sky, which was blue..._

_"And his wand snapped in two, which was saaad!_" they repeated, out of breath as well as tune. The night sky was clear and cold, and together they found their way back to hut and to the still half-full keg of goblin beer.

"To friendship!"

"To friendship! To generosity! To ten Galleons a hair!"


	2. II

Painfully, Horace opened his eyes. It was light. Too light, he concluded. He closed the eyes again and tried to drift back to sleep. But to no avail. He was awake. His head felt as if a remarkably ugly pixie had been spending the best part of the night pounding at it with a big, dirty mallet, and his mouth tasted as if the pixie itself, exhausted by the mallet-work, had crawled into it and died.

Moaning, Horace lifted his head and forced his eyes open again. He was sitting in a small room, walls covered with pots and old kitchen utilities, wooden floor and large wooden beams in the ceiling. Painful light flooded in from a small window.

_Where am I?_ he wondered, his thoughts dizzy. Suddenly he became aware of a rhythmic rumbling sound. He realized that he had been hearing it for awhile without noticing.

Looking around for the source of the sound he saw the gigantic form of the school's Care of Magical Creatures teacher, sleeping next to him by the table, his head buried in his arms. He was snoring. Nonplussed, Horace regarded him for a while, trying to bring order to his thoughts.

_Hagrid... yeah, that is this man's name. We can't have exchanged more than fifty words since I came back to Hogwarts. What is he doing here? What am I doing here for that matter? What did I do yesterday anyway?_ His head hurt but he forced himself to think back to what he remembered from yesterday. _Young Potter was involved... and Mrs Sprout I think, and a... spider? No, can't be right._

Suddenly he felt a bit uncomfortable. _All right, I have been drinking. A lot probably. And Hagrid too if I am any judge. So... why? _But there was no answers. Horace tentatively tried to rise, but his legs were hardly carrying him. Steadying himself against the table he took a few deep breaths before he tried again. He stumbled, however, and gave the sleeping Hagrid quite a rough push before being able to control his trembling legs again. Hagrid awoke with a snort.

"What? What's up?" He grunted, blinking as an owl in the light. Suddenly he spotted Horace.

"What're yeh doing here?" Suddenly he looked hesitantly. "Where're we, anyway?" Horace grinned at him with a strained expression.

"Er... good morning, Mister Hagrid. We happen to be in your house, I believe." The giant eyed him with a uncomprehending look in his eyes.

"Yeah?" he said. Horace fidgeted slightly.

"We seem to have been... drinking a glass or two," (his eyes caught the numerous empty bottles, mugs and kegs on the table) "and I seem to have happened to remain here over the night..." Another blank look from the other man.

"Yeah?"

"And I do thank you most humbly for the hospitality, but now I think it is time for me to..." but suddenly, Hagrid's nonplussed face lit up with realization.

"Ay! I remember. Yeh came by for ol' Argog's funeral - God bless yeh - an' we had some memorial drink for 'im. Damned decent o' yeh, I say. Yeh hardly know me, and Argog even less, but still yeh shows up for the funural o' his." Hagrid was clearly touched, his eyes teary but happy - apart from being blood shot. "A decent bloke, that's what yeh are, Mister Slughorn." Horace tried to smile in the face of the emotional giant, but the part of his brain responsible for yesterday's memory finally started to work.

_Argog? Rings a bell... an Acromantula, was it not? The man must be mad to deal with living specimens. Funeral... yes, we had a funeral... and I obtained Acromantula venom, did I not?_ Horace let his hand slide down to his pocket where he felt the reassuring weight of a well filled bottle of the kind he used for potion storage. A warm feeling flowed through him. He did not remember everything of yesterday, he was in a slightly uncomfortable social situation and he suffered from the worst hangover for many, many years, but if the bottle in his pocket held its promises, he was rich. He smiled at Hagrid again, and this time it was a genuine smile.

"No need, Mister Hagrid, no need at all. Anyone would have done it. I'm only glad to have been able to share such a... special moment with you. But now I think I should..."

"Ouch!" Hagrid cried, placing his large hand at his temple "My head feels like a blacksmithy gone mad... yeh care for some coffee?" And Horace realized that he did. Sure he wanted to get away from here, but the world was still alarmingly wobbly, and hopefully a cup of coffee could help bring it together.

"I wouldn't mind at all," he said, and he helped Hagrid to his feet and then, with a relieved grunt, he allowed his own large body to slide down in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He lit a fire with his wand and watched in silence as his gigantic fellow teacher busied himself with pots and jars. The large boarhound, who had been sleeping in a basket in a corner, walked over to him and put his large head in his knee. Horace patted him on the head.

"Fang likes yeh," the rumbling voice of Hagrid said. "Ol' silly-head, really, just like me." He tried a laugh, but with a wince he screwed up his face in pain and did not resume the attempt. Horace regarded the hairs that had loosened from the dog's fur and now was stuck to his hand. An idea took form.

"Say, Hagrid?" he asked. "You don't happen to have a spare cauldron?"

"Sure I do. Why?"

"I just realized that there is a certain something I can do to ease our current condition... Might you have some eggs as well, and maybe also just a small amount of vinegar?"

Following Horace's instructions, Hagrid assembled a number of ingredients. Some were just everyday kitchen supplies, other more rare and only available due to Hagrid's profession as a Magical Creature's teacher. Horace was for example simply delighted to learn that Hagrid had flobberworm secretion handy. Soon a thick, brown liquid was boiling over the fire. The potion master was carefully stirring it, counting each turn he made with the spoon. After thirteen he removed it.

"Now there is only one ingredient missing," he muttered, eyeing the boarhound which still had his head in his lap. Carefully he removed a chunk of hair from the dog's head. "Hair from the dog that bit us... the dog who drooled on us, more likely, but that'll have to do." And he added the hair to the potion and quickly removed the cauldron from the fire, stirring vigorously.

"Now what?" said Hagrid, who had followed the procedure with interest.

"Now we drink this," Horace stated, dipping two mugs in the cauldron and handing one of them to Hagrid. He took it with a sceptical expression.

"Yeh sure? I'm not feelin' all that well, yeh know." Horace smiled slightly pityingly at him.

"Yes I know. That is why we are to drink this. It will help." And he gulped down his potion. Knowing fully well how bad it tasted, he drank it as fast as possible, not letting his stomach have its say until he was finished. Hagrid watched him for a moment, then shrugged and emptied his mug as well. Horace put down his mug and felt the initial wave of nausea giving way for a wonderful feeling of content and wellbeing, spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body. He shuddered as it reached his head, calming the headache and making it easier to think. He could see a grin emerging on Hagrid's lips as the giant experienced the same sensation.

"That was wonderful, Mister Slughorn," he exclaimed, patting the potion master on the shoulder with a force threatening to break his bones. "Never before I've seen such elegant potion brewin'. My head feels light as a feather right now."

"Good, good," Horace answered. "I'm glad for those little deeds I can perform. And I felt I needed it as well."

"Yeah, that memorial drink seem to have been quite... memorable," Hagrid chuckled, poring up two large mugs of coffees. He sat down next to Horace.

"Indeed. I seem to recall a beer of your stock of simply amazing quality."

"Goblin brewed," Hagrid answered, nodding at the empty keg on the table. "Sneaky little buggers, but damned good at their crafts... Yeh know, I have a recollection o' us singing?" Horace took a sip on his coffee - which turned out to be black as a coal mine and still far too hot to drink. He thought for a moment.

"I can't believe that. I never sing. I'm totally unable to carry a tune." Hagrid grinned at him.

"Goblin beer. Amazin' stuff." And they laughed. They sipped on their coffee. Bird song could be heard from the outside and Horace realized that they were just at the edge of the Forbidden forest.

"Do you think Potter will be in trouble for taking part in the funeral?" he asked at a sudden thought. Hagrid shook his head.

"Nah. Harry can take care o' 'imself. Good boy."

"He is very resourceful," Horace agreed.

"One o' the best. His father's son, through and through."

"And his mothers'. Such a talented potions maker."

"An' a great friend."

They smiled and nodded and drank their coffee. Horace rubbed Fang behind his ears. Hagrid was looking out through the window. His brow was slightly frowned.

"Say, mister Slughorn. Did yeh put some o' Argog's poison in a bottle last night?" The potion master froze. He felt how he started to blush slightly. Reluctant to meet the giants' eyes he stared down into his cup.

"Why do you ask?" he carefully answered.

"I just seem to recall that yeh had such a bottle yesterday. I was only curious what yeh would go on doin' that for?"

"Er... yes, I did actually... you see, Acromantula venom is a very important part of many potions and very hard to acquire so I thought I would just… Never thinking it would cause offence of course..."

"No need to explain yerself," Hagrid interrupted. "Sure I know that stuff can be useful, and ol' Argog would not have minded... he would've been eaten by now anyway, if I hadn't dragged 'im out o' the forest... I was just curious."

They sat in silence for a little while, Hagrid still looking out through the window, Horace staring down his cup, debating with himself. He took a deep breath and looked up, meeting Hagrid's eyes.

"Actually... actually, Mister Hagrid, the venom is worth quite a lot of money and I planned to sell it... I have quite expensive habits, as you might know and..."

"No concern, Mister Slughorn. Sell the bottle and make the money, what use would I have with them anyway? That goes for the unicorn hair I gave yeh yesterday too." Hagrid gave the the amazed potions master a thoughtful look and went on. "See, it really did mean a lot to me to have yeh here at the funeral. I know that for most people, Argog's just a damned big monster, but he's been my friend for longer than anyone else... there've been very rough times for both o' us now and then, and he has stood by me whatever. Then he just died and left me alone... Yeah, it really was decent o' yeh to keep me company when I said my last farewell... And Harry o' course, but I didn't expect anythin' less o' him. So when yeh took a bit o' poison he won't miss anyway, or when I gave yeh some unicorn hair I can get more o' from the forest any day, it's just fine by me since it's my way of sayin' that I'm grateful. Damned grateful, Mister Slughorn." Horace could only stare at him for quite a while, then he bowed slightly in his chair, clearly touched.

"Why, Mister Hagrid, that was the most generous... I've never... I could certainly never expect... Thank you so very much."

"It's nothing. Want more coffee?"

And they had another mug of coffee, and it tasted much better than the first one.

After finishing the coffee they took a walk in the forest. Horace had, a bit half-heartedly, suggested that they should go to the breakfast in the great hall, but neither he nor Hagrid were really in the mood for food. They walked down one of Hagrid's favourite trails, followed by Fang, who was now and then doing small detours to the left or right.

"He's keeping track o' what's goin' on in his territory," Hagrid explained. "Wanna know if something's up in the forest."

"Amazing," Horace answered, and then he spotted a small plant growing by the side of the track.

"Why!" he exclaimed. "Is that a _Tortia megaca_? I had no idea they grow this far to the north." He bent down and carefully picked the plant, carefully studying it from every angle.

"Oh, that," Hagrid answered in an uninterested voice. "The unicorns eat it, and the centaurs sometimes use it as a spice, but I don't think it's very tasty myself. Tinselweed, they call it."

"This plant," Horace said, his voice gaining something of the lecturing quality that is so common among teachers," contains substances that can act as very potent regenerator. The roots and leaves of this plant is one of the core ingredients in the blood-replenishing potion. Usually we import it from the Mediterranean, but if we have it grown here at Hogwarts..."

"Wow!" Hagrid said, suddenly more alert. "No wonder the centaurs eat it, then. We should take some for Poppy."

"Madam Pomfrey will definitely be interested in this," Horace agreed, picking a few more plants, taking care to collect as much of the roots as possible. "And some other customers I can name, too," he added under his breath.

"Yeh really haven't been out in the forest before?" Hagrid asked curiously.

"Not much," Horace admitted. "Not even in my younger days... and at my age... No I have not been here much. Pity."

"Yeah!"

They walked on in silence for a while. Birds were singing, and even if they sometimes heard things moving in the undergrowth, the forest did not at all feel as frightening as Horace remembered it from his schooldays excursions. Of course, in those days he hadn't been in company of a half-giant with a crossbow.

"So, how do yeh like to be back at Hogwarts?" Hagrid asked curiously,

"It's nice to have a place to settle down," Horace answered. "I've been... moving around quite a lot these last years, so in one way it feels like coming home. And the students of course. Old men like myself have a tendency to slow down. We need those insightful, young minds around to keep us on our toes."

"Oh yes," Hagrid chuckled. "On our toes, all right. Nothing like a pup, to keep the bitch alert, right?"

"Er... right?" Slughorn, who had never heard the expression before, hesitantly answered. Hagrid grinned at him.

"Speaking o' pups... Have yeh ever met Fluffy?"

When Horace finally claimed to have had enough forest for one day, they retreated back to the castle, and managed to get there just as lunch was served. Being in the middle of a conversation about the Welsh dragon reserve ("Incidentally, I gave the career of the head of the reserve a few helpful nudges when she had just left school. Remarkable witch, and she still always sends me Christmas cards") they talked Vector into switching place with Hagrid so they could sit next to each other. Some of the students seemed to find this interesting enough for a gossip, and Dumbledore twinkled at them. After the lunch they walked up to Horace's office and sat down in the cozy sofa with a cup of tea.

"...an' there were just no talkin' to those brutes, so I'd to make an example o' 'em, hadn't I? But then they were suddenly as happy as anythin' - all fun an' game for 'em, you see, so I..."

"Hagrid! You can't seriously mean that you single-handedly attacked a group of trolls!"

"All fun an' game, as I said. An' then..."

Before either of them knew it, it was dark, and the house elves had brought their dinner to them.

"...you wouldn't believe it - but the director turns out to be an old _protégé_ of mine, so I could enjoy the show from the very best seat - and I tell you, it was a true marvel. The pure _gusto_ with which they performed..."

"They got those large gels with horns on their head?"

"Eh... that would've been Wagner. Anyway..."

It really was a day most well spent.

The next day, they both had classes, but they met over breakfast and lunch, and after the last, bewildered student had left the Care of Magical Creatures class to be taken to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey's care, the two newfound friends settled down by the fire in Hagrid's cozy hut and talked some more.

They talked about everything, really. About their jobs and life at Hogwarts, about old memories and old adventures - and both had plenty of those to report. They talked about common friends - and enemies. They talked about current affairs, even if it was a grim topic. They found that even if there were many things they did not have in common, they both shared an outlook on life that, despite it all, was optimistic. They shared the belief in the blessings of small things, and they shared the taste for a good story. They also shared a certain loyalty.

"For Dumbledore!" Hagrid cried and raised his mug of tea. "For the greatest wizard there is."

"Hear, hear!" Horace agreed and answered the toast. "For Dumbledore! Our hope and our protector. As long as he is with us, there is nothing for us to fear."


	3. III

They were yet again at a funeral. This time they did not drink. This time they did not sing. The eerie songs of the merpeople had chimed about loss and despair. The centaurs had fired their arrows in tribute and respect.

The white tomb gleamed in the sun.

Hagrid cried openly. Horace's face was very pale. A coldness was in his breast. The coldness of death. With trembling hands he raised his glass of dark funeral ale towards the white tomb.

"Goodbye Dumbledore, old friend," he whispered. "I will come after you soon enough. Many of us will."


	4. IV

"Well, goodbye for now," Horace said.

"Yeh take care," Hagrid growled as he opened the door for his friend.

"And you."

They smiled a bit tiredly at each other, their eyes speaking of how worried both of them were. Hagrid sighed.

"We'll see each other tomorrow again."

"Yes, we will."

Horace went out through the door and waved at Hagrid. He heard the door closing and started to walk towards the castle. He did not choose the shortest path, but a rather longer one that would allow him to pass the greenhouses to collect some potion ingredients. He shivered slightly and wrapped his coat tighter around him to close out the coldness of the summer night.

He and Hagrid had spent nearly every day since Dumbledore's death together. Either the morning or the evening had they been sitting together in Hagrid's cozy hut, in Horace's office, in the comfy staff room or in the _Hog's Head_. Talking sometimes, more often not. Just sitting together and sharing each others company had usually felt sufficient, and what was there to say anyway? Every day when they parted they assured each other that they would see each other soon again. Horace wondered if Hagrid really meant it. He knew for sure that he never believed it himself. With Dumbledore dead it was only a matter of time until the Dark Lord would pay Hogwarts a visit, and what hope would they have then?

Walking in thoughts, Horace did not notice the shapes in the edge of the forest. He did not hear the whispered commands, nor did he see the light reflected in the white masks covering the faces of the people waiting for him. Not until they stepped out from the shadows, in front of him, behind him and at his sides. They were glancing nervously around, keeping an eye on the path as well as on the castle.

"Mister Slughorn," one of them said in a hoarse voice. '"We are so glad to see you..." His companion's laughed a bit at that. Horace stood as petrified in their midst. There was nowhere to run.

"We have a proposition for you," the death eater went on. "Please follow us." And Horace was led into the forest. His mind raced. This was it. They had came for him as last as he had known all along they would. He was dead.

He had no idea of how long they had walked. It could have been five minutes or an hour. The death eaters seemed to be nervous and jumpy, constantly keeping watch towards the dark forest. Finally they came to a small windowless cabin made of bricks. They motioned to him to step inside and he did.

Inside the cabin was nothing but a small table and a few chairs. There was a cold fireplace in one corner and a mouldy bed in another. The death eaters filtered in, and the one who had spoken before turned to him. He sneered under the mask. Horace involuntarily took a step backwards.

"Now, Mister Slughorn," he hissed. "You must realize that we are not your enemies. On the contrary we have a very generous offer for you. The Dark Lord has always spoken very highly about your ability. We would like you to join us. To use your extensive knowledge in the service of the worthy cause. What do you say?"

Horace did not answer. He felt his heart beat, wondering how many more beats it would have time for, and he realized that he did not want to die. He did not want to be killed. Not here and now, anyway. Not until he had had time to put his businesses in order. His throat was dry, he was unable to speak. The death eater frowned.

"I do understand your concern, Mister Slughorn," he went on, his voice oily. "You fear giving up the comfortable lifestyle you have nurtured so far. You fear the life for the worthy cause is a life on the run. On the contrary, Mister Slughorn. The Dark Lord can offer you rewards for your services, for your loyalty, far beyond your wildest dreams. After all, what has ever your service to Dumbledore given you apart from a drafty dungeon?'

"Hurry up," one of the death eaters at the door said nervously. A woman. "We are far too close to the castle."

"I know," the first death eater snarled in an annoyed voice. He turned to Horace again. "So what will it be? Will you join the worthy cause or not? You have to make a decision."

And Horace knew he was right. He had to make a decision. Briefly he thought of his wand in his pocket. Or the first one of the three hip flasks he always carried with him. But no, he realized. They were prepared. They were too many. Leaving him just one option, except for giving in...

"You will be of great service to the Dark Lord, you know," the death eater prompted.

...which was not an option at all. He did not want to die, right enough, but neither did he want other to die for his hand, for his poisons or for the truths revealed by his veritaserum. He had lived a long life, and had certainly made enough damage already. He was not to help the Dark Lord one more time, that he knew. And for his businesses - hadn't he spent the past three years preparing for just this moment, all since he had heard about the black mark at the Quidditch World Cup? He was as prepared as he could ever be. And he was as good as dead.

Pity on Hagrid, though.

"You can tell your lord," he answered, his left hand casually stretching to his pocket, "that if he had listened to my advice when he was still Tom Riddle, he would not have needed it now when he is Voldemort."

And he grabbed the third of his hip bottles and raised it to his lips in one swift motion.

But he did never drink. A gasp from the door interrupted him.

In the doorway could be seen a horse. A pale, winged spectral horse with fangs and red eyes, radiating a strange, unearthly intelligence. Horace, as well as the death eaters, stared at it, for a moment too taken aback by the sudden appearance of the spectres of death to do anything . Behind it two more could be glimpsed. There was not a single person it the room who could not see them.

"Don't mind the thestrals," the woman cried. "He defied the Dark Lord. Put the Imperius Curse on him and let us get out of..." and her words were cut off by a scream, as her right arm was pierced by a shining cross-bow bolt. Blood flowed from the wound and her wand fell to the floor. A yell was heard from outside the hut.

"Oi! Yeh lot get lost. Fang, Fluffy, get 'em!"

The death eaters quickly ran to the door, wands ready, but they fell back as they were confronted by two enormous dogs, sharing between them four heads, growling, snarling and biting. Behind the beasts the unmistakable shape of Hagrid could be seen, frantically reloading his cross-bow. To his horror, Horace saw a spell hit his friend, but it did not seem to have any effect whatsoever.

"Hagrid!!" Horace cried, without consciously thinking on it dropping the hip flask. It fell to the floor, the deadly poison it contained flowing out, mingling with the blood and dirt, unused. Horace did not need it any more. No one was currently guarding him. He had been given a third choice, and without reflecting on it, he had chosen to live.

His hand flew back to his pocket, producing the first of the hip flask he always carried. The one that had taken him months and months again to brew. The defence he had prepared. He drank it, feeling the tastes and textures, even the temperatures, of the droughts differing as he drank. Not many wizards could brew a potion like this. A cocktail of multi layered potions, each preserving its own effect. Troll blood for strength, Snake spit for speed, Eagle draught for the sharpness of mind. 'Tinselweed' for blood. Murtlap against wounds, dragon scales against fire, mandrake draught against petrifying. And last a little gulp of Felix Felicis for what nothing but luck can guard you against. He felt his mind and body boil with the different potions and he reached for his wand. The after-effects would be dire, he knew, but the potion at least had given him a chance to survive. What more than a chance could he ever ask for anyway?

The death eaters were shouting orders, organizing their attacks, forcing the two dogs back. The thestrals were silently moving in the edge of the battle, undoubtedly waiting for their feast. Urged on by Felix, Horace quickly shielded a spell that had been intended for the middle of the tree-headed dog Fluffy's heads. He was moving unnaturally fast, and before the death eaters had really realized what he was up to, he had managed to knock the wand away for two of them. But then he had to defend himself, and even if the world seem to move in slow motion, his enemies were far too good at their deadly craft. Horace backed off against the wall, curses showering over him. He deflected them, Felix giving him a few moments warning. Then the crossbow sang again and another death eater sank to the floor, hit in the chest. Hagrid had thrown away his weapon and was now on his way towards them, his fists held high, roaring in rage. Horace managed to shield a death spell aimed at the approaching half giant, but then he was forced back again. The dogs were both down, panting and whining, not moving from the ground.

Hagrid reached the closest death eater and sent him flying across the room. The next in his path met with the same fate. No one that could see Hagrid in that moment - his enormous body outlined against the evening sky, his hammerlike fists moving up and down, hear his enraged bellowing - would ever doubt the non-human blood in his veins. He seemed to be made of wood and stone rather than flesh and blood. He fought as a troll, or a pissed off rhino, caring about as much for the humans in his path as an avalanche cares for the little wooden villages on the mountain side. Two of his enemies had boldly stayed in the door, showering him with hexes, but they were grabbed in a gigantic fist each and slammed together. Horace winced as he heard the only too characteristic sound of crushing bone. But it had given the remaining death eaters the time they needed to prepare their defence, and their next round of curses forced Hagrid down, despite Horace's best effort to protect his friend. The half giant was breathing heavily and his face was bleeding badly. Horace shielded another curse aimed for his friend and managed to stun the death eater that had talked to him earlier. Then he was hit in the chest. With the potion still burning in his blood he felt next to nothing, and even if it made him sway, he still stood. But he knew that it was a nasty wound he had just received.

"Kill them both," the woman sneered between gritted teeth. Her hand seemed to have been healed in a rushed way. The bleeding had stopped anyway, and she had retrieved her wand. The death eaters raised their wands and Horace did the same in a desperate attempt to shield as many of their curses as he could. But Felix told him to wait.

A sound as of thunder was heard and suddenly the pale moon light was in the cabin. It took a few moments before Horace and the death eaters realized what had happened, but then they saw that the roof was gone. Through the hole they could see the night sky, but most of it was blocked by an enormous face, grotesque and sulking. A large hand reached down towards them. One of the death eaters started to giggle nervously.

"So the Dark Lord sent one of the giants to help us? Isn't it fitting for Dumbledore's half breed to be finished by his own kind?"

"This isn't one of ours," another objected with rising panic in his voice. "I think it's..." And his words were replaced by a scream as the horrible hand caught him and lifted him out of sight. The scream was abruptly cut off, and a horrible crunching could be heard.

"HAGGER!!" boomed the voice of the giant, stretching down his hand again, causing the remaining death eaters to run in panic. Horace prepared to follow them, to try to stun one or a few of them in the back, but Felix told him otherwise.

Hagrid laid with closed eyes on the dirty floor, breathing painfully in small gasps, blood trickling from his mouth. His face was pale as the moon above them. With a sudden coldness in his breast Horace dropped his wand and gripped for the remaining of his three hip flasks, the one containing the strong healing potion. He forced the strong jaws of his friend open and pushed the bottle towards his lips, making him drink. Whether or not he actually could make the gigantic man swallow he did not know. All he knew that he had to keep trying. Somewhere in the forest, he heard screams, but he ignored them. He could feel the potion he had taken wear off, feel the heaviness and ache creeping into his head and body. He wondered if he should have taken that third potion after all.

That was how the aurors found them when they arrived. The death eaters had fled, but the dogs and the giant had kept them from retrieving their fallen comrades, which were moved to St Mungos under close watch from the aurors. By then, some small spots of colour had returned to Hagrid's face. Horace himself looked just as bad as the fallen half giant. The curse wound he had received felt like an open gap in his flesh and his head was close to exploding. Even his eyeballs ached. Horace did not protest, did nearly not notice, as he was gently drawn to his feet and together with his friend moved by portkey to the hospital wing.

Horace didn't wake up until well into the third day after that. He ached all over, even in parts of his body he had since long forgotten that he had, and he felt exhausted, despite the long rest. But his mood was lifted considerable as he saw the many get-well-cards, chocolate boxes, wine bottles and other gifts from various members of the Slug Club. _They still remember me..._.

Before he had had time to examine the haul properly, the door opened, and his gigantic friend entered. Without any ceremonies, Hagrid threw himself down on the chair beside the bed and let out a sigh. He looked tired, with big black bags under his eyes. His face was decorated with a fresh collection of scars, and his clothes were newly washed, which was a sure sign that he had spent at least some days in bed, giving the house elves time to fight off the complicated ecosystem that had evolved in his pockets. His eyes, however, were warm, and twinkled when they met Horace's.

"So, yeh woke up after all," he rumbled. Horace smiled at him.

"Seems like I did. And so did you." Hagrid shrugged.

"Been up for a full day. Spent most of it in the forest, rounding up the thestrals and calmin' the critters. An' you've just been sleeping it over."

"I'm older than you," Horace said dismissingly. "I need my sleep."

Hagrid chuckled and they looked at each other for a little while, smiling. Then the smiles left their faces, almost simultaneously.

"Don't yeh go dying on me again," Hagrid said seriously. "I'm not loosin' 'nother friend just yet."

"I won't," Horace assured him. "I won't give Riddle the pleasure. You better keep yourself out of trouble too."

"Oh, I'm fine," Hagrid said. "Take's more than those wimps to get a big fella such as myself. 'specially in the forest... Really, they were the ones that were lucky to get out of it alive."

"I can imagine," Horace agreed, shuddering at the memory of the thestrals in the edge of the battlefield, eagerly waiting to feast on the fallen.

"'ere," Hagrid, suddenly said, picking up one of Horace's chocolate frogs and tossing it to his friend. "You're still pale as a sheet, eat sum of that chocolate instead of just hoardin' it."

Horace felt a tiny stab of annoyance as Hagrid handled _his_ gift so very recklessly, but it faded away almost immediately. He had been hording quite a few things, other than chocolate, for entirely too long, after all. He picked up the frog and made a generous gesture to his friend.

"Help yourself," he said, and Hagrid happily did. Then the room fell into that kind of silence caused by all its inhabitants suddenly being busy with stuffing themselves with chocolate. Horace smiled and picked up the card that had been included with the frog. He looked at it and his smile disappeared. He looked up and met Hagrid's eyes, that suddenly had tears in them.

"Dumbledore..." he softly said. Hagrid nodded.

"Yeah. Mine too."

Suddenly, Horace didn't want any more sweets. He sat up more properly in bed.

"He really left us at the worst possible time, didn't he?" he asked the world in general. Hagrid shook his head.

"Must have had a reason for leavin'... he wouldn't have walked away on us otherwise..."

"I suppose..." Slughorn agreed without much feeling. Suddenly he felt very old.

"What will happen to us now?" he asked. The half-giant shrugged.

"Dunno, really... I'll stay here an' keep an eye on the critters an' the grounds, I suppose. Wouldn't want any more of the scums to sneak up here. If we get any students next year, I'll teach 'em. I'll try to help Harry as good as I can... If he needs a door crushed or a neck broken, or just a friend to listen to 'im. He really got the shitty end of the stick, didn't he? I'll help. What'll you do, Horace?"

Yes, what indeed? Horace didn't answer for a moment. He looked at the picture in his hand, the picture of the happily smiling, twinkling _headmaster emeritus_ who until recently had been the free wizarding world's greatest hope. He shrugged.

"Stay here, of course. Where else? I'll brew my potions and gather my information; the Slug Club is good for more than Christmas gifts, I'll have you know. Potter will need some Felix when he leaves, and possibly a very strong healing potion. He'll have them. And I'm needed as the head of Slytherin house more than ever. Those young girls and boys will find themselves more alone, more despised and more singled out than ever. They will find themselves subject to whispers about a Dark Lord that really _appreciates_ them and their services. They'll need me to point out what monster their "Dark Lord" really is, and what their alternatives are."

Hagrid nodded approval.

"I'm glad to hear it. Yeh and me are needed here. We can't let Dumbledore down."

"No, when all is said and done, we can't. And if we die, as we very well could have done this night, then we'll at least have done something right before we do."

"Hey, Horace. None of that talk. We might just live through this yet. Yeh and me're too old and too clever an' too tough just to go an' snuff it. We'll make it some way."

"You really think so?" Horace asked tentatively, smiling at his friend.

"Hey, I know it," Hagrid cried. "An' when the war is over, you an me'll sit in my ol' hut again, drinkin' the goblin-made beer and singin' 'bout Odo. Yeh an' me an' Fang an' Harry an' Ron an' Hermione an' all of us. We'll make it through the war, I tell you!"

Horace laughed at his beaming friend and raised his half eaten chocolate frog in a mock toast.

"Then I say; To friendship, to victory, and to goblin brewed beer."

"And may the two of us meet again to drink when the war is over."


End file.
